melvillehouse

20 THINGS YOU MAY ENCOUNTER AT THE MELVILLE HOUSE BOOTH #805-806 AT THE BROOKLYN BOOK FESTIVAL, THIS SUNDAY, 9/21, FROM 10:00 - 6:00

melvillehouse:

1. Books for sale, at shockingly good prices

2. Melville House staff selling those books

3. Novellas and Neversinks in a never-ending battle for the Best Looking Small Trim Paperback Supremacy

4. 0.8 miles of extension cord (per Google Maps)

5. Almost enough bubble wrap

6. Slavoj Zizek’s non-union Brooklyn equivalent

7. Enough packing tape to restrain the books if they get agitated

8. One last bottle of Pappy Van Winkle 20 Yr Reserve

9. A tiny blue house that, when set upon your head, announces which borough you’re to be Sorted into (and this is final so no whining.)

10. A machine that melts Amazon gift cards into ploughshares

11. An advance screener of “Melville House Author Photos: The Outtakes”

12. Locally sourced iPad batteries

13. Custom-made Dr. Scholl’s insoles, the secret formula we can’t reveal except to say it’s carbon nanotubes

14. The machines we use to bring the Novel back from the dead

15. The definition of “scrivener” (not what you think)

16. Knausgaard repellent (hmm…)

17. Colophon gun (loaded)

18. A Bluetooth speaker blasting the entirety of Mastodon’s Leviathan on shuffle/repeat

19. The answers, all of the answers

20. A song-and-dance number featuring every New York small press, complete with 72-piece orchestra, pyrotechnics, Espresso book machine solo, and audience splash zone

21. Me hanging around, making a nuisance of myself. See you there?

proofreadingbooks

proofreadingbooks:

The literature: emilystjohnmandel's STATION ELEVEN

The libation: After the collapse of civilization, what drink would you miss most? Surely you can scavenge plenty of wine and whiskey that’s kept perfect well (and even aged nicely) in basements and pantries - you could even make yourself a hot toddy with it, warmed over the fire.

But just think - you’ll never drink an ice-cold beer again. Want some citrus to mix with the last of your vodka? Unless you’re in Florida or California, you’re SOL. After the ants get to the granulated sugar, you can’t even make simple syrup. Bloody Mary? Sure, if you’ve got the tomatoes, but where are you gonna find Worcestershire sauce?

Of course, it’s not all bad - there’s fresh fruit when you can get it, and preserves, once you’ve figured out how to can produce without giving everyone lead poisoning. You can set up a still, teach yourself to make beer and wine and liquor. But those tiny luxuries - bitters, liqueurs, ice in the middle of summer? They’ve gone for good.

So raise one final glass to our opulent age, before the flu comes. Pour an old-fashioned, while you still have a choice in whether or not to be. Moisten a sugar cube (it comes in cubes!) with 2-3 dashes of Angostura bitters (they still make that!) in the bottom of a glass. Stir till the sugar’s dissolved, and add 2oz good spicy rye and a laughably huge ice cube (ready whenever you are). Garnish with orange peel, imported just for you from the farthest corners of the country. Stir, inhale, enjoy.

Survival, as they say, is insufficient.

Photo © Punch

Mmm. Tastes like NBA Longlist.

But this past week’s episode, “Listen,” is a standout, not just of the season but of the rebooted series as a whole. It’s one of the most frightening episodes I’ve seen, up there with “Midnight,” “Hide,” “The Waters of Mars,” and, of course, “Blink.” The scariest Doctor Who episodes prey on very primal fears - things that move when you can’t see them, water that will kill you if you touch it (let alone drink it), loss of control over your voice and your movements, and now, of course, what it is that lives in the darkness under the bed.



Steven Moffat has always been an expert at creating monsters that are simultaneously devastatingly ordinary and horrifying - Weeping Angels, anyone? - and the fact that there are perfectly reasonable explanations for every instance of the mysterious creature(s) in “Listen” just makes the other option (that there’s always something hovering just at the edge of your vision, but you can never see it) all the more viscerally terrifying. What’s under the blanket in Rupert’s room in the orphanage? Is it really just a friend playing a trick on him? The image of the out-of-focus figure standing just behind Clara, Rupert, and the Doctor will stay with me for a long time - especially when I’m home alone at night.

The Essential Doctor Who Midseason Check-in: Parsing Peter Capaldi

I wrote about how much I like the new season of Doctor Who over at Word + Film!

melvillehouse
melvillehouse:

skylightbooks:

"Bradbury (in 1975) didn’t drive a car. But he was often out and about in L.A., browsing bookstores’ stacks, his bicycle propped just outside."

Proposed alternate captions:
"Ray Bradbury’s hatred of automobiles was only eclipsed by his hatred of pants.”
"Ray Bradbury, pictured doing him."
"Ray Bradbury, about to sneeze, clenches his mighty quads."
"Ray Bradbury, raising the bar on embarrassing one’s daughter in front of her prom date."
"Ray Bradbury, the human magnetic dress-up playset."

"Ray Bradbury: Because fuck you, I’m Ray Bradbury."

melvillehouse:

skylightbooks:

"Bradbury (in 1975) didn’t drive a car. But he was often out and about in L.A., browsing bookstores’ stacks, his bicycle propped just outside."

Proposed alternate captions:

"Ray Bradbury’s hatred of automobiles was only eclipsed by his hatred of pants.”

"Ray Bradbury, pictured doing him."

"Ray Bradbury, about to sneeze, clenches his mighty quads."

"Ray Bradbury, raising the bar on embarrassing one’s daughter in front of her prom date."

"Ray Bradbury, the human magnetic dress-up playset."

"Ray Bradbury: Because fuck you, I’m Ray Bradbury."